


Steel Bones and Satin

by hoomhum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corsetry, Hand Jobs, Internal Conflict, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mirror Sex, Rimming, and encouraging, fear not-- he comes around, in which a kink is discovered and the one who possesses it is Not Too Sure, mutual satisfaction of an indulgence, reassuring Mycroft is reassuring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 07:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19662217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoomhum/pseuds/hoomhum
Summary: "I'd look ridiculous, is all I meant," Greg finished, somewhat lamely. It wasn't that he was self-conscious about his body, really. He looked good for his age, he'd always thought. Sure, there was a slight softness to him from more weekends spent indulging rather than jogging, but he was fit enough to get the job done.What he wasn't was thin and hairless, the type of body one that usually advertised lingerie.And that was fine.He wasn't thinking about the way silk would feel against his skin, the sensation of stiff material pressed against every side, the hot blush of wearing something feminine.Really.





	Steel Bones and Satin

"Are you imagining me in that, or yourself?" Mycroft asked in a low voice, subtly nodding toward the young man at whom Greg had been accidentally staring for the past several minutes.

Guilty, and yet immensely relieved that Mycroft was clever and confident enough in their relationship to know that it was not the young man himself with whom Greg had been entranced, Greg looked away. They'd been watching parade goers file past the cafe for more than an hour now; close enough to Pride to satisfy Greg's sense of community and safeguard Mycroft's dislike of crowds. 

"I wasn't--" he started, before being treated to a rather spectacular raised eyebrow. 

Mycroft then looked pointedly back at the man. "It's a very lovely garment." 

It was. The corset was black, with red lace and trim. It stood out sharply against the man's pale skin and lithe frame, matched with skinny black jeans. 

"I'll ask again," Mycroft said, taking Greg's hand and folding it in his own. "Were you imagining--"

"Well it's not as if I could," Greg said, cutting him off before he could get very far. "I'm, y'know." He straightened his shoulders to bring attention to their width. Mycroft looked unenlightened. "S'not like I have the right shape for it, is all. I'm a bit more..."

He waved his hand at himself. "Not the right type of--"

"If you finish that sentence with 'the right type of gay'," Mycroft said crisply, "You'll be the type spending the night on the sofa."

Greg's ears went pink. 

"I'd look ridiculous, is all I meant," he finished, somewhat lamely. It wasn't that he was self-conscious about his body, really. He looked good for his age, he'd always thought. Sure, there was a slight softness to him from more weekends spent indulging rather than jogging, but he was fit enough to get the job done. 

What he wasn't was thin and hairless, the type of body one that usually advertised lingerie. 

And that was fine.

He wasn't thinking about the way silk would feel against his skin, the sensation of stiff material pressed against every side, the hot blush of wearing something feminine.

Really.

He took a fortifying sip of his coffee, avoiding both further conversation on the topic and his lover's intense gaze.

"Ridiculous is the last word that I would use." 

As the words registered, Mycroft slipped past him, squeezing between their seats and heading for the door at a clip. Greg stared, startled, brain still processing the comment as he watched Mycroft approach the corset wearing young man and his friends.

The group's defenses rose immediately, which was of little surprise considering Mycroft's determined expression and impeccable suit. Greg couldn't hear what was said, but after a moment, the tension broke and the young men were grinning and talking excitedly.

Much to Greg's relief, Mycroft did not point or gesture back toward the window. He might have dropped dead on the spot if he had. As it was, he was already blushing crimson. 

It was just two minutes later that Mycroft returned, smirking triumphantly. There were three small scraps of paper in his hand.

"I've the recommendation of one local seamstress and a shop that does custom creations online," he said, settling back in his chair and draining the last of his coffee. Greg didn't have the heart to glare at him. "Our new friends insisted that I, and I quote, 'don't listen to that waist training shit and get something that's just pretty' and one of them gave me his number if I 'need help trying it on.'"

He flashed one of the scraps of paper at Greg-- it really was a phone number-- and then dropped it into his newly emptied mug to soak up the dregs.

"You don't think it's…" _Dumb… weird… a waste of time and money…_

Mycroft tucked the remaining papers into his breast pocket and reached for his hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I don't."

~

The next afternoon Greg woke from a nap to find his lover fiddling with a tape measure and looking thoughtful. 

"If you don't want it," Mycroft said gently, "You needn't ever wear it. I wouldn't want to force you on my account. But I did contact the creator and ask what measurements they would need to make one of your own…"

Greg felt his post-nap sleepiness drain away quickly. "On your account?"

"If you've no interest, just say the word, and we'll speak no more about it," Mycroft said, looking at his hands as he spoke.

Heart rate speeding up as he did so, Greg sat up and took the fabric tape measure from him. "Where do we start?"

The smile he got in response was radiant. 

There was a whole list of measurements, which Mycroft pulled up on his phone before setting it aside and helping Greg out of his shirt. He did so slowly, sliding one hand up against his belly and kissing him distractingly before eventually pulling away and tugging the t-shirt off.

"The first one is here," he said, cupping his hands against Greg's ribcage and smoothing his thumbs over his nipples. "Around the chest at this height." He darted in for another quick kiss before retrieving the tape measure from Greg's lax hands and wrapping it around him.

"Then here." He moved the tape measure a few inches lower, tightening it as Greg's chest narrowed. The tail end brushed against Greg's sleep pants and the bulge within, which was starting to take an interest in the proceedings. 

Mycroft's hands were gentle on him as he proceeded. He kept up a gentle narration of what he was doing, but relied on his eidetic memory to track the measurements rather than pausing to take notes. The measuring tape banded around him, going progressively lower at intervals that meant absolutely nothing to Greg, until Mycroft let one end fall.

He licked his lips as Mycroft met his gaze, only for the intensity of the moment to be thwarted by another round of measurements. The distance between his nipples. The distance from armpit to armpit across his back. Then horizontal distances, from his navel to his chest, his waist to his hip. 

By the time Mycroft set the tape measure aside he was panting. He'd barely been touched, but he felt so incredibly _seen_. He was hard in his sleep pants, a fact that Mycroft noticed with a smirk.

"Shall I measure this too?"

Greg couldn't bear the teasing. He sat down on the edge of the mattress with a heavy thump and put his head in his hands. 

"Seems wrong," he mumbled to the floor. "Liking this. Christ, I haven't put a damn thing on, and I'm still--"

Mycroft pushed his arms out of the way and climbed into his lap. He braced his arms on Greg's shoulders to steady himself. 

"It hurts no one," he said, mouth near Greg's ear as he dropped kisses along his jaw. "Hurts no one and nothing; it's not bad. It can be our secret."

Greg's hands found their way to his lover's arse, a familiar, comfortable hold. "You like the thought? The idea? Tell me again you like it. I'm not just a freak." 

"I do," Mycroft promised, taking Greg's wrist and directing his hand to the space between them. Greg's body wasn't the only one to react to the unusual foreplay. "See? Normal reactions, the both of us." 

He leaned in for another kiss, this one sweet and lingering. Greg chased the taste of tea around his mouth, holding him steady with the hand on his arse while the knuckles of his other hand brushed gently over the fabric of Mycroft's trousers that had drawn taught in the front, distended by his interest.

Eventually that hand moved upward, cupping Mycroft's neck. His fingers slid into the short hairs at his nape as he pressed their foreheads together. The last of his panic receded as he breathed and hung on.

~

A month and a half later Greg came home from work and found the corset laying innocuously on the bed, as though the sheer idea of it hadn't rocked him to his core the day of the parade. As though the flat hadn't been brimming with anticipation ever since Mycroft had brought out that measuring tape. 

And now it was here.

The fabric was a royal blue brocade, the stitching a silver floral design. A ruffle of black lace trimmed both the bottom and top edges, following the sharp dip where the front panels met. A row of shining silver fasteners marched down the centre from the top to the bottom.

Carefully, Greg lifted the garment, turning it round in his hands to examine the back. Lacing ran the length of it, wide black ribbon so soft that it must be silk fed through silver eyelets that matched the fasteners on the front. It was a beautifully constructed piece-- even a layman like Greg could tell that much. He was glad he hadn't asked how much it had cost. 

Turning it over once more, he unfastened the front, curious to see how flexible it was when opened. 

"Do you like it?"

Greg dropped the corset and stepped back automatically, an unreasonable shame flaring in his gut, even as he glanced at the man who had bought the thing for him. Mycroft stood in the doorway, a cautious smile on his lips. 

He crossed the threshold and took up Greg's hands, pressing a kiss to his lips. "You needn't look so guilty, my love. I did put it there for you to find."

"Just… haven't gotten used to it, I guess," Greg replied, frowning a bit at himself. "It's brilliant, though. Didn't know what you'd pick out, but you did well."

"Mm, I've always adored this color on you." Mycroft paused, taking a half step back. "Will you try it on for me?"

There was something restrained in the way he asked; he'd accept a refusal, despite the desire in his gaze. Greg pressed forward, kissing the side of his mouth. 

"Help me?"

"Of course."

It seemed the creator had sent along some instructions, as Mycroft was quick to pick the laces loose and open the metal fasteners as Greg stripped out of his shirt. After a moment of thought, he shimmied free from his work trousers as well, feeling they'd be out of place. Bare, save for his boxers, he felt suddenly shy. The feeling faded when Mycroft turned to him with the corset open, expression hungry.

"Stand in front of the mirror."

He moved to do so. Mycroft approached him from behind, wrapping the stiff material around his torso in a gesture like a hug.

"First we'll close these," he said, fastening the metal clasps one by one. Greg watched his fingers move against the shining blue fabric, glancing up only to catch the man's eye. The garment was slightly cool against his skin, smooth but firm against him.

"Hold it up, while I see to the laces."

Greg pressed his hands to his chest, thumbs brushing against the lace. He could feel a blush rising in his cheeks as Mycroft lay a kiss to his bare shoulder. Thus far he'd avoided looking at himself in the mirror, had just focused on looking at the fabric or his partner, but now it seemed unavoidable. The way the lace fell across his untanned skin was entrancing. 

"We just want them tight enough to hold it in place," Mycroft murmured, doing something incomprehensible behind him with the ribbon. What had been hanging loosely around his torso drew up against it comfortably. Greg experimentally took his hands away as Mycroft made adjustments, tightening the laces here and there so that the fabric was snug against him from top to bottom. 

"Breath in," Mycroft instructed quietly, the hunger in his tone having taken a backseat to caretaking. Greg did so. "Still comfortable? No trouble?"

"None," Greg confirmed. Mycroft fiddled for a moment more, before taking a step back.

"All done."

Greg looked himself up and down. It was quite a sight, if he did say so himself. For weeks he had been half dreading this moment. Images of a sad old copper trying to relive his glory days had kept coming to mind, but this-- this surpassed every expectation. He was no twenty-something, but the royal blue looked good against him. The structure made his posture straighter and the lace added a softness, a _prettiness_ that was damn enjoyable. 

He could feel the ends of the laces dangling against his arse as he moved, turning to the side to get a better view, and that was something else as well. His cock, half hard since he'd spotted the corset on the bed, was straining in his boxers. He palmed it, not wanting to remove them and chance dirtying up the lace. Finally, he met his own gaze and grinned.

"Well, love," he said, turning his back to the mirror and taking a sauntering step toward his partner. He put one hand on his waist and held the other out for Mycroft to take. "What do you think?"

"You're remarkable," Mycroft said, taking his hand but not closing the distance between them. His gaze roved over Greg, taking in every inch of him. Greg's stomach flipped, knowing that Mycroft would remember this forever, his memory being what it was. Would he think on the sight often? The idea warmed him from the inside. "Remarkably lovely." 

"Me, or this?" Greg asked, drawing a hand down the center of his chest. He brushed the ruffles at the bottom, enjoying the feeling of the lace.

Mycroft's gaze followed the path of his hand, delaying his reply. Greg couldn't help but smirk at how enamored he was. "Both," the other man finally said. "You are, of course, lovely in whatever you choose to wear and lovely when you wear nothing at all. But this…"

He stepped up and ran both hands down Greg's sides, tracing the shape of the corset, where it narrowed Greg's waist and flared slightly at his hips. "This is something else entirely."

Greg glanced cheekily over his shoulder at the mirror. "Makes my bum look a treat, too, doesn't it?"

"It does." Mycroft cupped the bum in question with both hands, sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of Greg's shorts. "Though I have to say these don't quite fit the outfit."

"Suppose I could be convinced to take them off for you," Greg said, affecting a thoughtful expression. "But it'll cost you, posh." His heart was soaring, his confidence bolstered by the love and adoration shining from Mycroft's gaze. Their lovemaking was always sincere; sometimes it was playful too and this experiment had brought that side of him even more strongly to the fore.

"Name your price."

"Just a kiss." He pulled them around and started walking backwards toward the bed. "Maybe two. And evening the odds a bit. Wanna see you as well."

Mycroft surged forward, kissing him soundly. Their lips met with the ease of long practice and their bodies pressed close, still stumbling back toward the bed. Greg lost his balance and sat, nearly toppling backward, but was saved by the grip Mycroft had on him, bent nearly double and still kissing him.

"Yeah, alright," he said, when Mycroft finally pulled away for air. "Kisses paid. Now get your kit off, will you?"

He scrambled back on the bed, shoving the duvet aside and pushing his boxers down his thighs. Mycroft stopped in the midst of unbuttoning his waistcoat and grabbed the fabric where it was caught at his knees, tugging it the rest of the way off. His other hand slid up Greg's bare thigh, all the way to the crease of his hip. He didn't touch his cock, which strained upright, but skipped further up to flutter the lace. 

"Mm, you'll be the death of me," Greg groaned. He tucked an arm beneath his head, fingers scrunching in the sheets, and nudged Mycroft with his knee. "Undress, come on. I want to see you."

"Just to see?" Mycroft asked, backing up obligingly and continuing the methodical removal of his clothing. "I'm not the one looking such a treat."

"Flatterer. See… touch… you'll have to come here to find out, won't you?" 

Greg wiggled back to prop himself up against the headboard, idly stroking along his own torso as he watched Mycroft undress. His lover's eyes followed the movement of his hand, his breath catching slightly as he pinched the lace between his fingers. The stripping, which had started out methodical, quickened as Mycroft efficiently divested himself of his suit and dropped the pieces to the floor.

It was with an appreciative gaze that Greg watched his pale and freckled lover climb the bed and settle in his lap. They kissed again, hands roaming to stroke skin and corset alike. 

"I hope you know a good dry cleaner," Greg murmured with a barely concealed giggle, as their cocks pressed between them, beginning to leak eagerly in anticipation. 

Mycroft's reply was to wrap a hand around both members, elegant thumb swiping at the fluid. He brought the offending mess to his lips. "Of course. And they're very discreet, as well."

Greg snorted in amusement. "I'd bloody well hope so."

"I--" Mycroft began after a moment more of kissing. He stopped himself, kissed Greg's jaw, then began to pull away. "I've an idea. Not that this isn't… only neither of is getting to _see_ very much…"

"Go on, then."

Mycroft retrieved the full length mirror from the corner of the room and set it up at the foot of the bed. He offered Greg his hand. "On all fours in front of here. I think you'll like the view."

"Ooh." A sound of delight and intrigue escaped Greg as he settled in front of the mirror. He didn't consider himself a vain man, rarely focused upon his appearance much more than to ensure he was decent, but this, this was nice. "And you--"

The question stalled in his throat as Mycroft climbed up behind him and, without any warning, thumbed apart his arse cheeks and kissed him there solidly. He kissed like he was kissing Greg's lips, indulging in small nips here and there at the flesh of his arse, while his tongue chased deeper. The sensation, wet and warm, filled his body like liquid gold, making his back arch and his cock jump. 

Mycroft had always been able to work wonders with his mouth. Usually it was by way of his words, but not tonight. Tonight, Greg was at the mercy of his lips and tongue, caught by the generous, slick reward of being worked open by a master craftsman. With a steadying grip on Greg's hips, Mycroft worked downward, nuzzling into the mess that he'd made while his lips sought another target. He enveloped Greg's balls, one at a time, humming with fervour and gripping tighter as the vibrations made Greg's hips twitch.

He took his time, mouthing each downy ball before pressing wet, open mouthed kisses back to Greg's hole. 

"Are you watching?" 

Greg, who had been doing his best to keep himself upright, had not been watching. His turned his gaze to the mirror, getting an eyeful of his own open mouthed, dazed expression right as Mycroft pressed a finger into him alongside his tongue. He cried out, chest heaving. In the mirror the silver thread sparkled.

He could feel the way his rim stretched around the digit pressed into him, the way Mycroft's tongue slid and prodded this way and that, urging his muscle to relax further and allow the intrusion. It was a familiar burn, one he enjoyed even more as it was accompanied by Mycroft's little hums of pleasure. 

"I'm good," he managed, after a few slow pumps of Mycroft's finger. "Gimme another, p--"

To his frustration, Mycroft backed off completely. He knelt upright and pulled Greg with him, an arm wrapped around his chest until they were flush together. Two fingers prodded at Greg's lips and he let them in, nearly inhaling them as Mycroft's other hand wrapped around his cock.

He had to widen his stance or risk toppling over, as Mycroft's touch jolted him like a live wire. Mycroft's gaze pinned him in the mirror. Bare, save for the royal blue. One arm around his waist at his cock, another pressing fingers into his mouth. He was the very picture of debauchery. Mycroft smirked and kissed his shoulder. 

"Steady on," he murmured, shifting a bit to Greg's left. Greg realized why when the fingers in his mouth drew away and returned to his arse. "You look so good for me. So gorgeous." 

Greg couldn't draw his eyes away from the mirror. It was like having an out of body experience, watching what was happening and feeling the onslaught of sensations rush through him. Mycroft's hands played him like a puppet, two fingers seeking his entrance from behind while a fist stroked his cock in a steady rhythm. 

When Mycroft found his prostate Greg buckled, grabbing at his lover's arm to stay upright. The pleasure building inside of him was more intense than any he'd ever felt. It was inconceivable. Each gasping breath reminded him of the steel boned construct wrapped around him, only redoubling the waves of pleasure radiating through him.

He met Mycroft's intense gaze in the mirror when he came, crying out his name. 

The next few minutes were very floaty. Mycroft helped to lay him down on the bed, murmured endearments in his ears and pressed kisses to his forehead as Greg caught his breath and tried to determine if his entire brain had just come out his cock.

It felt like it might have. 

"I take it we can mark this experiment a success?" Mycroft asked, petting Greg's hair gently. Greg's head was cradled on his thigh.

"No." Greg protested, tipping his head just slightly to the side to press a kiss to the bare expanse of skin he was resting against. He gathered his thoughts and his strength, heart full to bursting with love for his partner, even as satisfaction coursed through his veins. "Not just yet. Haven't gotten your verdict on it yet."

He nosed over just a little more. Mycroft's cock arched against his belly, just out of reach in this position. He'd been so lovely, so encouraging and indulgent. So kind. That type of behavior ought to be rewarded.

"I should think my opinion on the matter is quite clear," Mycroft said, voice a bit strained as Greg wriggled closer and let a warm breath drift over him. Greg glanced up at him with a cheeky grin. 

"Best to make sure, though, right?"


End file.
